Tragedies and Second Chances
by MarieChristine81
Summary: Lady Marjorie is sailing on the Titanic to America and meets an unexpected stranger...


_I don't own Upstairs, Downstairs, just love the show…_

The massive ocean liner glided across the sea as the beautiful sunset ended another peaceful day along the Atlantic Ocean. Along the promenade milled people of status and wealth, enjoying the view of the sea. A beautiful woman of mature years in a fine white muslin dress stood at the railing. Her gray eyes gazed out at the enormity of the endless blue surrounding the ship. Determined wisps of her copper hair escaped the confines of her graceful hat. Her delicate fingers held on to the railing to steady her against the gentle rocking of the waters. The beautiful woman did not notice the wizened lady in the restrictive black dress approaching her with an envelope in her hand.

"Lady Marjorie, there is a telegram from Mr. Bellamy," she said importantly.

"Thank you, Roberts," Lady Marjorie Bellamy said absently to her maid. She didn't want to leave the tranquil view. For once she wanted . . . It never occurred to others what she truly wanted, not that she ever would voice those thoughts to begin with. Her thoughts trailed off and forgot about the maid at her side.

Roberts sniffed haughtily enough to remind her Lady of her presence without being insolent.

Lady Marjorie gave a gentle but reluctant sigh. Back to the world she knew. She held out her hand as Roberts gently placed the telegram in it. As she turned to find a seat along the deck, Roberts placed a shawl around Lady Marjorie's shoulders. Her Lady gave her a smile of thanks as she sat down to read.

"Do you require anything further, Milady?"

"Yes, I shall come to dress for dinner shortly."

"Yes, Milady." Roberts nodded to her mistress and quickly made her way through the gathering crowd on the deck to attend to her duties.

Marjorie closed her eyes with dread. She was not looking forward to dinner with Mr. Thomas Andrews and his wife. Or with her brother, Hugo Talbot-Carey, otherwise known as Lord Southwold. Hugo, affable he was, turned grating and embarrassing in the presence of those greater in wealth than he. And his wife, poor thing, tried to compensate for his lack social graces. _At least she'll have a companion tonight to take her mind off Hugo_, she thought.

Lady Marjorie gathered the shawl about her as she opened the envelope. "What could Richard want?" she thought to herself as she scanned the brief message:

"Lady Marjorie Bellamy, State Room #6, Aboard White Starliner RMS Titanic en route from Southampton to New York dated April12, 1912. Macmillan's delighted and impressed with manuscript. Take good care of yourself. All my fondest love, Richard."

Her eyes shone with excitement. So he had done it! Well done! He had worked so hard on the biography of her father's life, more emphasis on his political achievements. Oh, her father would have been proud of Richard. This was dated April 12, so that was 3 days ago. Affectionate love for her husband and his achievement flowed from her heart and found its way to her lips in a gentle smile. She carefully refolded the message back into the envelope. But the smile faded as she remembered a time when, instead of affection, she had felt only coolness, and his achievements had meant little to her.

"Not now," she chided herself quietly. This was a long awaited triumph for the both of them, not a time to remember regrets. "Or past loves," a quiet voice whispered in her thoughts. Lady Marjorie closed her eyes briefly to banish the forbidden thought and to focus her mind on the present. Dinner with the Andrews.

The dinner was ordinary enough. Mr. Thomas Andrews and Hugo talked of nothing but the splendors of the Titanic and the ingenuity of the ship's design. Thomas' wife was bubbly and made polite conversation with Hugo's wife. And Lady Marjorie was properly bored. She attempted to keep her mind on either conversation, but it was quite a struggle.

As Andrews and Hugo spoke of the brilliant sealed containers to hold water in case of an accident and the two ladies discussed the dress of a woman a few tables from them, Lady Marjorie listened to the music playing in the background. Her eyes brightened as she recognized the tune, then quickly softened. "My Luv is Like a Red Rose" was the melody. It was her favorite, but ever since Charles had sung it for her that night . . .

"And what do you think, Lady Marjorie?" asked Mrs. Andrews with bright smile.

Marjorie refocused her eyes on Mrs. Andrews and noticed Hugo's wife was eagerly awaiting an answer.

"I agree with you, Mrs. Andrews," Marjorie said decidedly, but was still on her guard. _I hope I didn't make a serious error_, she thought.

"You see," said Mrs. Andrews proudly. "That color does look awful on Mrs. Astor. You would think that since he has money that she would have a more attractive wardrobe. Now, if I had my way I would . . ."

Mrs. Andrews prattled on and Lady Marjorie went back to listening to the music. The piano player began to sing softly, his voice matching the tone of the melody.

She smiled softly because his voice reminded her of Charles. As she continued to listen, it sounded almost too _much_ like Charles. It was as though he were there, in that very room. It was impossible! But the voice was unmistakable. She frowned as she tried to turn around to see the voice of the singer, but a portly gentleman blocked her view.

"Is anything the matter?" asked Mrs. Andrews gently as she placed her hand lightly on Marjorie's arm.

Trying to collect herself quickly, Lady Marjorie smiled and patted the friendly hand. "I thought the singer of that song sounded just like my son, James. I guess I miss him more than I realized."

"Poor dear. Well, the dinner has finally arrived and it's looking delicious. At least you'll have something to take your mind off your departure from James, if only for a little while." And with that, Mrs. Andrews began to talk again with Hugo's wife.

The song ended and the ones actually listening to the song applauded politely. Lady Marjorie clapped while still trying to get a glimpse of the singer. The portly gentleman blocking her view left his table, and she was finally able to see the singer. But at first, all she could see was the back of his head as he spoke to a guest. Then he turned his head, and she was able to see his profile. All color drained from her face as she recognized him.

_He's dead. The newspapers, James, his batsman. All confirmed he was dead. He can't be here_, she thought frantically. She repeated this over and over as she ate. But she didn't remember eating a thing.


End file.
